


[12:14 a.m.] New Message from Eddie, My Love

by onierokinetic



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Fix-It, Fluff, It's not explicit but Stan IS alive and he and Patty are happy and in love, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris Lives, but not really, not a text fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onierokinetic/pseuds/onierokinetic
Summary: [12:14 a.m.]Why me?[12:15 a.m.]What?[12:23 a.m.]You could have had anyone, so why me?***The night after confessing his love to Eddie, and returning to his apartment alone but no longer single, Richie gets a text. One that has him on the phone in seconds, willing to do whatever it takes to let Eddie know how much he loves him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 159





	[12:14 a.m.] New Message from Eddie, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off [this prompt](https://write-it-motherfuckers.tumblr.com/post/613155551448350720/person-a-why-me-person-b-what-person) because I was feeling so deeply uninspired, but still needed to do my daily writing. It actually turned out a lot better than I had hoped, even if it still feels a bit ooc to me. But hey, who actually acts like themselves during late night phone calls with their significant other, right?

[12:14 a.m.] _Why me?_

[12:15 a.m.] **What?**

[12:23 a.m.] _You could have had anyone, so why me?_

Whichever screen writer first decided that love confessions in airports are romantic was, in Richie’s expert opinion, a fucking idiot. Yeah, usually the person doesn’t end up getting on the plane in the end, but Richie really couldn’t stay behind in New York. As romantic as it would have been to quit his job to stay in New York with Eddie, it just wasn’t that realistic. Plus, he kinda _likes_ his job. Or, at least, he will once he takes his friends’ advice and fires all the ghost writers. Besides, it’s 2016 and there are so many different ways to keep in contact with loved ones, and he isn’t too short of cash to not visit him every now and again. 

Still, this is a conversation he wishes he could have with Eddie in person. His answer is not the sort that he wants to convey through text. 

So, he calls him. The phone continues to ring for long enough that he’s scared Eddie won't answer, but just as it’s about to send him to voicemail, Eddie picks up. Richie doesn’t wait for a hello. 

“...Because you’re the only one I want. You always have been.... Is that really so hard to believe?” 

It’s late, he’d just gotten back to his apartment and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to be anything but honest right now. 

“I’m a mess, Richie,” Eddie replies, to which Richie scoffs. 

“Uh, yeah dude. Can you really imagine me with someone who actually has their shit together? Like Ben. He’s hot and all but we would never work out. All those mature adult conversations about sharing your feelings and… doing taxes. Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Okay, first of all, Ben is just as much of a mess as all of us. He’s just better at hiding it. And second of all, he’s totally right—!” 

“See? Mature adult. You’ve got your shit together more than I do. So you’re a little fucked up? You really think you’re the first guy to nearly get murdered, realize he’s gay, and then divorce his wife? Come on Eds, you’re not _that_ special,” he teases. But there’s honesty hidden in his voice. Yes, Eddie is a mess. They both are. That’s not something he could ever deny. But that doesn’t mean shit. Not to Richie.

“Oh, so getting impaled by a demonic alien clown from another dimension isn’t special enough for you?” Eddie snaps. There is no heat to it, but it stings Richie all the same. He knows Eddie was just trying to continue the banter in the way they always do, but this is not something he thinks he’ll ever be able to joke about. 

“Eds…” 

“Yeah, I know. Sorry,” Eddie backtracks. 

“No, it’s not— don’t be sorry.” 

“No, Richie. You’re right, I’m sorry. It was different for you. Seeing it all. I shouldn’t even be joking about it, right? That’s fucked up.” Eddie laughs humorously. 

“Just a little,” Richie croaks. 

“See?” 

“See what, Eddie?” 

“I’m a mess, Richie. I nearly died and I can’t even process _that_ like a normal human being. I knew it wasn’t something you were comfortable talking about, but I still said it. Richie, I’m not— You don’t— Ugh!” 

Richie waits for Eddie to sort out what he needs to say. It takes a few minutes, but he gets there eventually. 

“I’m not good at this, Rich.”

“Eddie. Hey, Eds. Come on, dude. Don’t be like that. Trust me, making jokes is a totally normal way of coping with trauma, you’re fine. And… I mean, I’m not even upset about it. That you make jokes about it. Going through all of that, seeing you suffer like that… it hurt. But you’re here and alive and healthy and I thank whatever turtle god is out there every day for that. I love you, Eddie. I don’t care about the rest.” 

Richie’s heart nearly beats every time he says those words. A fear response so deeply ingrained into him, that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell Eddie how much he loves him _without_ that split-second of terror. Though, he’s definitely faced worse things than telling the love of his life how he feels about him, so he doesn’t let it hold him back. 

“You should,” Eddie grumbles. “You should care about it. You… You’re like, famous! You could have anyone you want and yet…” 

“Eds, listen I know this is probably where I should say something like, _you’re the only one I want,_ or whatever, which _is_ true don’t get me wrong, but like— I think you’re overestimating my status over here. I’m not like… Brad Pitt or one of the Hemsworths. I’m an average looking white dude who tells other people's jokes for a living. Not exactly Hollywood's most eligible bachelor. The only people who chase after me either want my money or are into that shitty stage person you hate so much. The girls are all out so that only leaves dudes who would probably beat the shit out of me for being gay or dudes who would sleep with me and _then_ beat the shit out of me for turning them gay.” 

“That’s not—” 

“True? It is and you know it.” 

“Yeah…” Eddie sighs. “But… still, Rich. I just… Why me? Why not Bill or… I don’t know Stan? You two were always so close. Still are.” 

“Oh God no,” Richie groans. “Bill, are you kidding me? God, could you imagine? It’d be like dating an older brother. I mean, I guess he is cute… Wait, no. That fucker socked me in the damn face that summer. It’s basically domestic abuse. Absolutely not.” 

“Okay, that definitely _isn’t_ domestic abuse because you certainly weren’t together,” Eddie corrects, but Richie ignores him. 

“And Stan? Dude is so in love with Patty that not even Brad Pitt stands a chance. Plus, lifetime of birdwatching dates and… and kosher meals sounds like my own personal hell.” Richie tacks on that last one, despite not knowing if that’s a bad thing or not. He can’t remember enough about their childhood to know if he ever ate kosher. Maggie and Went weren’t religious, and though they’d all had a flood of memories come back to them recently, it’s normal for a 40-year-old man to not remember all the different kinds of meals he had as a kid. 

“Kosher isn’t even that bad, dickwad,” Eddie laughs. It’s the first time he’s heard Eddie laugh during the entire call. It brings a lightness to his heart that, if Eddie could feel, would answer his questions. Why Eddie? Well, because it really couldn’t be anyone else. 

“Listen, Eds. Do you love me?” It’s kind of terrifying to ask, even though he knows the answer. But still… all those what-ifs. 

“What? Richie… Why do you—”

“Eddie. Just answer. Do you love me, yes or no?” 

“Yes, Richie. Of course I do.” 

“See, then that’s it. That’s all that matters.”

“Wait, it’s not that simple, Rich,” Eddie tries to protest, but Richie doesn’t let him. 

“It really is. I love you, you love me,” _Let's get together and kill Barney,_ Richie’s brain unhelpfully finishes for him. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“Will we? Because I loved Myra. I know it wasn’t healthy, and yeah I don’t want to be with another woman ever again, but I did love her at some point. And we didn’t figure it out. It just made things worse.” 

“Sometimes, love just isn’t enough,” Richie says. He hears Eddie’s sharp intake of breath, but he doesn’t give Eddie’s anxious thoughts enough time to dwell over that statement. “But I’m willing to try if you are. Eddie, I love _you,_ and nothing is going to change that. If 20 something years of repressed memory couldn’t get me to lose my feelings for you, then I don’t think anything will. I love you, Eddie. And that’s enough.” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and it’s enough to make Richie feel like his chest is going to explode. He _knows_ that Eddie loves him back. He does. He knows that Eddie won't hate him for saying it. But still, he can’t help the way he can still hear Bowers’ screaming at him in the back of his mind, with Pennywise’s little song playing in the background. 

Finally, Eddie settles on what he wants to say. Richie can tell there’s a lot more, but it’s getting late. Besides, they have all the time in the world, and Richie will remind Eddie of how much he loves him every damn day if he has to. 

“I love you too, Richie.” 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks. “And since I love you so much, I think it’s probably time you get some sleep. What is it, like four over there? We can finish this conversation tomorrow Eds, but a tired Eddie Spaghetti is a friend to no one.” 

“That’s not my name, fuckface!” Eddie chastises, but Richie can hear the smile. 

“See? A friend to _no one._ Not even his beloved boyfriend.” 

“...Boyfriend, huh?” Eddie asks. Richie’s glad that they’re only speaking on the phone and not on video chat because the blush that fills his face is downright embarrassing. What is this, middle school? 

“Boyfriend,” Richie affirms. 

“... Yeah. I like that.” 

“Okay, goodnight, Boyfriend.” Richie teases, but it’s only really half-joking. 

“Actually? You know what. I take it back. That’s way too middle school for me, we’re so not doing that.” 

“But—!” 

“No,” Eddie laughs. It’s loud and obnoxious and it makes the volume on his phone spike in a way that makes him feel like his eardrums are being stabbed by tiny little needles. It’s the most beautiful sound Richie’s ever heard. “Goodnight, _Richie.”_

“Night, baby.”

That one wasn’t actually on purpose. It did just slip out. But Eddie immediately ends the call instead of chastising Richie, so he can only assume that Eddie liked it. He stores that information away for later. 

He has to be up early tomorrow, so he plugs his phone in and sets his alarms before turning it off and setting it directly on the bed next to his pillow. A fire hazard, he knows, but he needs the vibrations next to his head if he’s going to actually _wake up_ to the alarms. If Eddie were here, he’d surely have something to say about it. He’d probably force Richie to put it on the nightstand and then wake him up with cold water or something the next morning. Annoying, but Richie would rather have that than his empty bed. 

On second thought, he picks his phone back up and opens up his messaging app, typing out one last message to his _boyfriend._

[1:34 a.m.] **Because I love you, Eddie.**


End file.
